Prologue

The swiftness with which they attacked was staggering.

Legolas had no idea such an uprising was about to occur.

The warning came, and then, moments later, the throne room was flooded with bloodthirsty rebels led by Aglar, the heartless, power-lusting exile banished from Mirkwood decades ago for unspeakable crimes against the throne.

Legolas's brother Elaran, the High King of Mirkwood since Thranduil had departed for Valinour, had stolen Legolas aside in a tiny broom closet as the attack occurred.

"They are searching for me, I cannot be long," he whispered urgently. He shoved Legolas's weapons into his brother's hands with a few maps and a sack of gold.

"Get out of here, Legolas," he said. Legolas's eyes burned steely, determination set in them.

"I'll not leave you," he said fiercely. "I'll fight with you, my brother, until the end."

"Don't be a fool," Elaran hissed. "They will kill you if they find you. My life is already as good as gone…you are the last in our line, Father has no other sons! You must flee, Legolas. 'Tis our only hope for the future…"

Dying screams of those loyal to Elaran sounded from outside. Legolas's brother looked sickened.

"For the love of the Valar, Legolas, do as I say," he pleaded. "Leave. Flee. Save yourself…and our people, when the time comes."

"Elaran, I—I cannot—" Legolas was horrified at the thought of leaving his only sibling to be murdered by the ruthless rebels. He could not bear the thought of wise, gentle Elaran being slaughtered by the would-be usurpers.

Elaran could see that Legolas was not persuaded, but time was growing short. Every second of hesitation hastened Mirkwood's demise and lessened Legolas's chances of escape.

Elaran set his jaw grimly.

"All right, Legolas," he said softly. "I am sorry to do this. But as your king and commander in chief, I hereby order you to escape and save yourself. Do you understand? I am forcingyou to obey me."

Legolas's heart froze. He had to obey. Here Elaran was not his brother but his king, his superior, his liege, whom he was required to obey under every circumstance.

"Elaran…"

He swallowed, and hugged his brother tightly. Elaran embraced him back and for a moment all sounds of war faded away as the brothers held each other one last moment.

Then Elaran withdrew, his face set grimly and determinedly.

"When we withdraw, I shall cover for you, and you shall wait three seconds for my diversion to take place. You shall then go to the king's chambers and lock the doors to buy yourself time. Then use the balcony as a mantle for escape. Do you understand?"

Legolas nodded soberly.

"All right, then, here we go…now."

And with that, Elaran leapt from the closet, loudly proclaiming his presence to the rebels in the hall.

Legolas counted to three then leapt similarly, to the right, in the direction of the king's chambers. He reached the doors leading there and could not help twisting his head back to see what was going on.

This was the last he ever saw of Elaran.

His final view of his brother was of Elaran being cut down viciously and not even gloriously by the rebel leader but by a mere soldier, no one important. Elaran was overrun, and was putting up only a minor fight. He had willed himself to die, and was sacrificing himself for Legolas's escape. Not only that, but Legolas would be the only hope for the restoration of the kingdom. If he died, Mirkwood would be doomed to an eternity of terrible domination and oppression.

Legolas blinked back tears as he saw Elaran's head snap to the side and his brother's body slump to the floor, dead. At that moment, Aglar himself rounded the corner and saw Legolas escaping.

"Fly, little coward, fly!" he crowed, eyes glowing madly. He drew an arrow, then spat upon the face of Elaran just to spite Legolas, and sneered at Legolas's face, which was white with anger.

"But it is useless," Aglar hissed, stalking towards him, bow pulled taut. "You will be vanquished, just as your brother was…"

He pulled the string back and let the arrow fly—but Legolas had snatched a tiny dagger from his belt barely in time, and it found itself buried in Aglar's shoulder, throwing the elf's aim far off target.

Legolas fled into the king's chambers. Behind him, he heard Aglar screaming furiously.

"Seize him, fools! What are you waiting for?"

Legolas slammed the oak doors to the king's chambers and locked them before ramming up against them all the heavy furniture from the room.

He flew to the balcony, crouched and leapt straight up into the branches of an overhanging tree. He turned for one last glance into what had been his father and then his brother's chambers, before ascending as high into the trees as he could and fleeing the palace forever.

-Chapter 1-

Thirteen years had passed since that day.

Legolas leaned on his spade and sighed. His eyes traced the perimeter of the field carefully, like he had done thousands of times before, searching out any sliver of movement that might mean danger.

Except now in his hand he carried not a bow, but a crude wooden spade made for plowing the earth. The borders he surveyed were not his own, but those of a human who would pay him a meager amount for his work at the end of the day. The only danger he would encounter in the surrounding woods or anywhere local for that matter was a knife-wielding drunkard, easily avoidable, or occasional thief – and this generally a bored youth whose discontent with his lot in life was generally cured by a day in the stocks and a firm whipping upon the buttocks. No longer did he hunt and kill orcs and goblins regularly, or need to fear the devious spiders which made their homes in the trees.

No longer was he known as Legolas, Crown Prince of Mirkwood, and deadliest archer in all of Middle Earth. Instead, he was called in his own homeland as the Lost Prince – and this by the secret loyal, whose fealty to the true royal line was forever a deadly secret stored in their hearts. To the usurpers and traitors, and to those whose hearts lay truly with the rightful heir but whose cowardice or perhaps fear for their families held them fast to obedience to their new masters, he was known as the Despised One, the coward, he who ran like a maid instead of fighting—and dying—after the death of his brother.

And to those who knew him now, and had known him for the past decade, he was known as Peregrinus, a name which he had derived from man's language as meaning "stranger", which he certainly was here. Nearly all the men considered this name presumptuous and an overstress of their vocal chords for something as simple as a name, and therefore referred to Legolas merely as "Perry". If they remembered the true name he offered them it would be a wonder, a true miracle at that.

It was to this name Legolas had become sadly accustomed to responding, and his ears perked up slightly at the sound of a coarse human voice yelling it just now several times in succession.

"Perry!" Legolas was certain the human must have called him at least four times by now. He remained fixed in thought, or at least offered the pretense of such, in hopes that he might be able to provoke several more summoning before the frustrated human stormed over to demand an answer to the other worker's apparent deafness. It was low enough humor indeed, the elf reflected darkly, and shameful that he had been reduced to finding entertainment in such truly petty situations.

A rough clap on the side of the head which Legolas had anticipated easily several seconds before actual impact caused him to decide to finally pay his attentions to the one so desperately seeking it.

Tomas, a middle aged man of stocky build and scraggly beard much like the vast majority of men around here, stood beside him, an irritated look in his eye and a flask of something foul-smelling in his hand.

"It's eatin' time," he informed the elf, holding up the flask. "Conner's wife roasted one too many chickens last night an' he brought it over here to share before it goes bad."

Legolas merely nodded, seeing this bit of information as hardly provocation for response.

Tomas sighed deeply. "Do you want to eat with us?" he ground out. Legolas knew it was cruel to tease the human so, but the elf himself never claimed to be a saint nor overly virtuous, and his present moody temperament had no problem with his cat and mouse games.

"No, thank you," Legolas declined politely. "I had a hearty breakfast indeed, and a stomach too full makes a man lazier than a cat in the sunshine."

He laughed inwardly at what his brother might say to hear him using such language, but his stomach immediately clenched tightly at the thought of his brother, and the humor in the situation vanished as if it had never existed.

"At least rest," persisted Tomas. "You get out here before any of the rest of us, and we get here before the sun. You never take any water breaks and you never even stop for a breather."

"Fewer hours yield fewer coins at the end of the day," Legolas returned lightly. Even though he had very little need for his earnings, as he had a quantity of wealth hidden in his home, no one else in the village had such wealth and it was entirely expected that a man earned as much as he possibly could.

Tomas scowled; Legolas had completely avoided any of his accusations and moreover was making the rest of the men looks like lazy fools.

Legolas knew he shouldn't have responded like that; after ten years here he was almost completely invisible and he should not be risking exposure now. In order to avoid being labeled as unusual, he took breaks when he didn't need to, ate more often than he felt hunger, and complained needlessly when he truly felt no fatigue. Lately though something had taken hold of him, a deep desire to return to his roots, to his true identity, and he had started forgetting to behave like a human and had started to behave naturally like an elf.

Too late now for recovery though; Legolas smiled at Tomas and returned to his work. This was something else suspicious about Legolas; he had not physically aged a single day in the entire ten years he had been there, while the rest of the town was well on its way to growing older. The young girls he had met upon his initial arrival were becoming engaged, married and mothers one by one. The young men apprenticing in their father's shops were now working more than their seniors, and many of them supporting a wife and multiple children. Many of the elderly citizens of the village had passed on, and many of the young, vibrant men and women of middle age were now becoming the elders themselves, with pains in their joints and slowed reflexes and abilities.

Legolas, however, had looked the human equivalent of early twenties upon his arrival, and to that very day no change whatsoever could be marked upon his face or body. He had tried to cause his face to age, and tried to seem slower in form, but it could not be done. The best he could do was attribute it to excellent genes, and assure those suspicious that his parents had been blessed equally.

In his years there had also been forced to endure the solicitations of many a maid, whose affections for the prince, far more attractive to the women than any man in the village by a long shot, were rarely masked much, if at all.

Presently he was dealing with the unwanted courtship of Leana Birch, the village beauty, the desire of every man in the village – except, of course, for the elf on whom she had her sights set. She was pretty, Legolas would not deny that, with a comely form and trailing dark hair, but that had little bearing on his attraction to her. She had approached him multiple times on the subject, and not as flirtatiously as those in the past had, but with seriousness in her blue eyes as well as mischief, begging to know why he would have her.

"You do not understand the sacrifice such a thing would require of me," was all Legolas would say, frustrating her to the point of tears at times. She would beg and plead and scream and demand to know whether she was truly beautiful as she had always been told. To this Legolas would respond gravely and politely that she was as physically perfect as any woman he had ever seen – truthful in its entirety as Legolas spent most of his time around elf maidens, the simplest of whose beauty far surpassed the most exotic human. He did not feel compelled to share such information, however, with Miss Birch.

Leana did not understand, of course, and typically became so upset that to become attached to her would be an immense sacrifice that she would wind up in tears. In fact, she visited so often and become a watery mess so many of the times that Legolas wondered why she even bothered to come. Surely she must understand after dozens of visits that he would not have her. Naturally, none of the other men in the village could understand it either. They certainly would not have found it a sacrifice in any way to be bound to Leana for life.

Legolas had purposed that next time Leana paid her attentions to him, he would have prepared beforehand by arming himself with a list of eligible young men with bright futures in whom Leana could possibly vest her interests.

Legolas nearly sighed when he realized it had been more than a decade since he had so much as set eyes on a maiden of his own kind. Though he was not the lovelorn type, nor one who became easily fixated on maids and chased them endlessly, it was more a reminder that he had been in such desperate hiding for so long a period of time. It had been more than a decade since he had seen any of his own kind, male or female.

Legolas bent back down to continue his work. He wanted to finish early today so he could get an extra hour of his version of personal fitness in—practicing knife play or archery in a back room of his house. Completing the work early never posed a problem; the work was simple and the elf strong and tireless.

The rest of the day continued without event.

Legolas returned to his home and paused a moment, hovering on the threshold, gazing up at the roof of his small house. He reflected with a bitter smile on how different the clay walls and thatch roof of the house were than the stone walls and lavish decorations of Mirkwood's palace to which he was so keenly accustomed.

Legolas went inside and shut the door, musing. The last he had seen of his true home was the cold stone balcony off which he had leapt to escape the traitor Aglar's soldiers, to save his own life. It had been difficult to leave the palace, but even more difficult to flee the forest when he could hear the dying screams of elves loyal to him refusing to vacate the palace.

Yet he had done so, following Elaran's orders, knowing that with his brother dead he, Legolas, was the last hope for Mirkwood if she was ever to have peace and order again.

His efforts were nearly in vain the year after his escape, when he discovered how hotly Aglar was after his blood. The usurper had sent more than a hundred elves after him, searching Middle-Earth for the lost prince, the only one who could threaten Aglar's claim to power.

Legolas had been hiding out in the foothills of the Misty Mountains for several weeks when a contingent of Aglar's guards came upon him by surprise. He had just barely been able to escape them, and flee again to distant woods, where he remained for several more weeks.

He never stayed in the same place for more than a month. Typically he would make a small camp and remain there until the game in the area became less plentiful, or when he felt unnerved for whatever reason.

The year following his close encounter with the elves he was found and attacked again. This time, their force had doubled, and instead of the ten elves he had escaped previously, there were now twenty of them.

Unfortunately, Legolas had been captured.

He was beaten, bound and hauled off back towards Mirkwood—Aglar apparently had given orders that when found, and Legolas was to be brought back so Aglar himself could have the pleasure of taking his life.

A piece of irony, however, saved Legolas's life this time, as well as a mystery that would plague him for a decade.

While crossing through the forest, the group was attacked by a pack of orcs out looking for trouble. While ultimately the elves came out victorious, Legolas used the fight as an opportunity to steal a knife, free himself, steal his possessions back and slip away undetected. He did not stick around long enough for the elves to discover their loss, instead making haste to get as far away as possible.

He had, in fact, done far more for them than he owed them upon his escape.

Legolas occasionally remembered the event, pausing to contemplate…

Legolas finished severing his bonds and collected his weapons easily and swiftly. He was turning to flee again when the anguished cry of a fellow elf caught his ear.

There was no reason for him to turn back. After all, he knew that every elf in the area was trying to either kill him or keep him captive so someone else could kill him.

But he turned, instinctively responding to the cry for help from one of his kin, and upon doing so saw a huge orc holding an elf by the throat. The elf hung limply in the orc's grasp, trying feebly to pry its claws from his throat. In his hand the orc held a thick spear, poised above his head, ready to strike the elf through the heart.

Legolas's eyes locked onto the other elf's, and without thinking, Legolas scooped a sword from a dead orc's hand and buried the blade into the orc's heart. It gave a terrible screech of death then slumped to the forest floor, dead.

The elf slumped to the ground as well, but he was not dead.

He tried to give a weak cry to alarm his fellows of the prince's imminent escape, which angered Legolas. After all, had he not just saved his life?

"I should have expected nothing more from a traitor," the prince hissed at the elf, before turning in disgust and fleeing into the forest.

Legolas made a face of slight disgust upon this memory. The incident had been soon forgotten, however, as keeping his identity confidential and his whereabouts unknown became so highly prioritized he rarely had time to ponder anything else.

A certain mystery had plagued him for quite some time though.

As he had fled into the woods, the leader of the orcs he rounded upon him suddenly from behind a tree, seizing him by the throat and holding a knife to his chin. Legolas had time neither to think nor react, and was certain he was about to die, when suddenly a black-notched arrow came flying out from the trees, striking the beast in the heart and killing him instantly.

Legolas had no idea how this had come to be; the arrows were completely different from those used by the Mirkwood elves—not that they would have helped the prince anyway. And the shot had come from the trees, beyond the ring where the fighting was occurring.

Legolas still had no clue where the mystery savior arrow had come from, but had forced himself to be content with thanking the Valar for the piece of fortune, and moving on.

The third encounter occurred thirteen months later. Legolas, feeling safe, had become somewhat settled in a village called Kway. He heard rumors that a band of elves was lurking, searching for someone, but believed himself safe because Kway was a tiny, insignificant village hundreds of miles from Mirkwood.

Unfortunately, he had been wrong, and was awoken during the night to the smell of fire. When he peered outside, he saw Aglar's elves ravaging the village: kicking in doors, burning houses, holding villagers by the throat demanding to know whether they knew the whereabouts of Legolas.

The elf prince had barely had time to gather his things and flee before they were pounding on his door. As he ascended into the tree he had watched the roof of his home go up in flames, and heard the angry cries of the elves when they realized he had evaded them yet again.

Paranoid, he then lived as a nomad for the next two years. He lived in villages but only for periods of mere days. He constantly wore a hood to hide his ears and hair. He never displayed strength more than what any ordinary man would have. He acted entirely like a human, and none ever knew the difference. These are among the reasons that after this he was not caught; he left no mark or anything to suggest he was any different from anyone else. If questioned, humans of villages he visited would have no idea he was anything besides another weary traveler.

To the world of elves, it was as though he had disappeared off the face of Middle-Earth. He had simply vanished.

Finally, after twenty-five months had passed and Legolas had remained hidden in absolute secrecy, with no close calls or even mere sightings or gossip that Aglar's elves were near, Legolas settled in Fleton.

He chose it for its size and location; the village was both tiny and set far apart from Mirkwood or anywhere Aglar's elves might still be scouting.

Furthermore, he had observed the town for a few months prior to moving there and had deduced that the people were hard workers, not nosy or prone to gossip, and thus the chances that word of his presence would spread were slim.

He had found a job as a laborer and had maintained it steadily, eventually acquiring enough human currency to purchase a small house and make something of a life there.

Now, his eyes wandered to the thick oak chest in the corner of the second room of his home. This contained his bow, quiver of arrows, knives and gold which he had taken with him from Mirkwood. He never took them out, never used them. They were locked away quite safely, where they would stay until he needed them again. The only exception was the knives, with which he practiced his footwork and blade work so as not to forget his skills. His bow, however, he never used. It was far too powerful a weapon to use for mere hunting, and he did not dare let any in the village see it, lest they begin to wonder at the strange markings and marvelous craftsmanship of the tool.

Legolas bit back a sigh at the sad thought of his unused weapons.

Someday, he would return, and his blades would taste the blood of the usurpers. This he vowed silently, as he did every day, swearing mentally that he would return.

"Fly, little coward, fly! But it is useless; you will be vanquished just as your brother was…"

Someday, his arrow would find Aglar's heart, and then it would be the evil elf who would try to flee.

"We shall see who is vanquished in the end, "Legolas swore darkly.